the dryad-第4节

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reigned。

　　　　It　was　the　Church　of　the　Madeleine。

　　　　Clad　in　black　garments　of　the　most　costly　stuffs；　fashioned

according　to　the　latest　mode；　the　rich　feminine　world　of　Paris

glided　across　the　shining　pavement。　The　crests　of　the　proprietors　were

engraved　on　silver　shields　on　the　velvet…bound　prayer…books；　and

embroidered　in　the　corners　of　perfumed　handkerchiefs　bordered　with

Brussels　lace。　A　few　of　the　ladies　were　kneeling　in　silent　prayer

before　the　altars；　others　resorted　to　the　confessionals。

　　　　Anxiety　and　fear　took　possession　of　the　Dryad；　she　felt　as　if

she　had　entered　a　place　where　she　had　no　right　to　be。　Here　was　the

abode　of　silence；　the　hall　of　secrets。　Everything　was　said　in

whispers；　every　word　was　a　mystery。

　　　　The　Dryad　saw　herself　enveloped　in　lace　and　silk；　like　the　women

of　wealth　and　of　high　birth　around　her。　Had；　perhaps；　every　one　of

them　a　longing　in　her　breast；　like　the　Dryad？

　　　　A　deep；　painful　sigh　was　heard。　Did　it　escape　from　some

confessional　in　a　distant　corner；　or　from　the　bosom　of　the　Dryad？

She　drew　the　veil　closer　around　her；　she　breathed　incense；　and　not　the

fresh　air。　Here　was　not　the　abiding…place　of　her　longing。

　　　　Away！　away…　a　hastening　without　rest。　The　ephemeral　fly　knows

not　repose；　for　her　existence　is　flight。

　　　　She　was　out　again　among　the　gas　candelabra；　by　a　magnificent

fountain。

　　　　〃All　its　streaming　waters　are　not　able　to　wash　out　the　innocent

blood　that　was　spilt　here。〃

　　　　Such　were　the　words　spoken。　Strangers　stood　around；　carrying　on

a　lively　conversation；　such　as　no　one　would　have　dared　to　carry　on

in　the　gorgeous　hall　of　secrets　whence　the　Dryad　came。

　　　　A　heavy　stone　slab　was　turned　and　then　lifted。　She　did　not

understand　why。　She　saw　an　opening　that　led　into　the　depths　below。　The

strangers　stepped　down；　leaving　the　starlit　air　and　the　cheerful

life　of　the　upper　world　behind　them。

　　　　〃I　am　afraid；〃　said　one　of　the　women　who　stood　around；　to　her

husband；　〃I　cannot　venture　to　go　down；　nor　do　I　care　for　the　wonders

down　yonder。　You　had　better　stay　here　with　me。〃

　　　　〃Indeed；　and　travel　home；〃　said　the　man；　〃and　quit　Paris　without

having　seen　the　most　wonderful　thing　of　all…　the　real　wonder　of　the

present　period；　created　by　the　power　and　resolution　of　one　man！〃

　　　　〃I　will　not　go　down　for　all　that；〃　was　the　reply。

　　　　〃The　wonder　of　the　present　time；〃　it　had　been　called。　The　Dryad

had　heard　and　had　understood　it。　The　goal　of　her　ardent　longing　had

thus　been　reached；　and　here　was　the　entrance　to　it。　Down　into　the

depths　below　Paris？　She　had　not　thought　of　such　a　thing；　but　now　she

heard　it　said；　and　saw　the　strangers　descending；　and　went　after　them。

　　　　The　staircase　was　of　cast　iron；　spiral；　broad　and　easy。　Below

there　burned　a　lamp；　and　farther　down；　another。　They　stood　in　a

labyrinth　of　endless　halls　and　arched　passages；　all　communicating　with

each　other。　All　the　streets　and　lanes　of　Paris　were　to　be　seen　here

again；　as　in　a　dim　reflection。　The　names　were　painted　up；　and　every；

house　above　had　its　number　down　here　also；　and　struck　its　roots

under　the　macadamized　quays　of　a　broad　canal；　in　which　the　muddy　water

flowed　onward。　Over　it　the　fresh　streaming　water　was　carried　on

arches；　and　quite　at　the　top　hung　the　tangled　net　of　gas…pipes　and

telegraph…wires。

　　　　In　the　distance　lamps　gleamed；　like　a　reflection　from　the

world…city　above。　Every　now　and　then　a　dull　rumbling　was　heard。　This

came　from　the　heavy　wagons　rolling　over　the　entrance　bridges。

　　　　Whither　had　the　Dryad　come？

　　　　You　have；　no　doubt；　heard　of　the　CATACOMBS？　Now　they　are　vanishing

points　in　that　new　underground　world…　that　wonder　of　the　present

day…　the　sewers　of　Paris。　The　Dryad　was　there；　and　not　in　the

world's　Exhibition　in　the　Champ　de　Mars。

　　　　She　heard　exclamations　of　wonder　and　admiration。

　　　　〃From　here　go　forth　health　and　life　for　thousands　upon　thousands

up　yonder！　Our　time　is　the　time　of　progress；　with　its　manifold

blessings。〃

　　　　Such　was　the　opinion　and　the　speech　of　men；　but　not　of　those

creatures　who　had　been　born　here；　and　who　built　and　dwelt　here…　of　the

rats；　namely；　who　were　squeaking　to　one　another　in　the　clefts　of　a

crumbling　wall；　quite　plainly；　and　in　a　way　the　Dryad　understood　well。

　　　　A　big　old　Father…Rat；　with　his　tail　bitten　off；　was　relieving

his　feelings　in　loud　squeaks；　and　his　family　gave　their　tribute　of

concurrence　to　every　word　he　said：

　　　　〃I　am　disgusted　with　this　man…mewing；〃　he　cried…　〃with　these

outbursts　of　ignorance。　A　fine　magnificence；　truly！　all　made　up　of　gas

and　petroleum！　I　can't　eat　such　stuff　as　that。　Everything　here　is　so

fine　and　bright　now；　that　one's　ashamed　of　one's　self；　without　exactly

knowing　why。　Ah；　if　we　only　lived　in　the　days　of　tallow　candles！　and

it　does　not　lie　so　very　far　behind　us。　That　was　a　romantic　time；　as

one　may　say。〃

　　　　〃What　are　you　talking　of　there？〃　asked　the　Dryad。　〃I　have　never

seen　you　before。　What　is　it　you　are　talking　about？〃

　　　　〃Of　the　glorious　days　that　are　gone；〃　said　the　Rat…　〃of　the

happy　time　of　our　great…grandfathers　and　great…grandmothers。　Then　it

was　a　great　thing　to　get　down　here。　That　was　a　rat's　nest　quite

different　from　Paris。　Mother　Plague　used　to　live　here　then；　she　killed

people；　but　never　rats。　Robbers　and　smugglers　could　breathe　freely

here。　Here　was　the　meeting…place　of　the　most　interesting　personages；

whom　one　now　only　gets　to　see　in　the　theatres　where　they　act

melodrama；　up　above。　The　time　of　romance　is　gone　even　in　our　rat's

nest；　and　here　also　fresh　air　and　petroleum　have　broken　in。〃

　　　　Thus　squeaked　the　Rat；　he　squeaked　in　honor　of　the　old　time；

when　Mother　Plague　was　still　alive。

　　　　A　carriage　stopped；　a　kind　of　open　omnibus；　drawn　by　swift　horses。

The　company　mounted　and　drove　away　along　the　Boulevard　de

Sebastopol；　that　is　to　say；　the　underground　boulevard；　over　which

the　well…known　crowded　street　of　that　name　extended。

　　　　The　carriage　disappeared　in　the　twilight；　the　Dryad　disappeared；

lifted　to　the　cheerful　freshness　above。　Here；　and　not　below　in　the

vaulted　passages；　filled　with　heavy　air；　the　wonder　work　must　be　found

which　she　was　to　seek　in　her　short　lifetime。　It　must　gleam　brighter

than　all　the　gas…flames；　stronger　than　the　moon　that　was　just

gliding　past。

　　　　Yes；　certainly；　she　saw　it　yonder　in　the　distance；　it　gleamed

before　her；　and　twinkled　and　glittered　like　the　evening　star　in　the

sky。

　　　　She　saw　a　glittering　portal　open；　that　led　to　a　little　garden；

where　all　was　brightness　and　dance　music。　Colored　lamps　surrounded

little　lakes；　in　which　were　water…plants　of　colored　metal；　from

whose　flowers　jets　of　water　spurted　up。　Beautiful　weeping　willows；

real　products　of　spring；　hung　their　fresh　branches　over　these　lakes

like　a　fresh；　green；　transparent；　and　yet　screening　veil。　In　the

bushes　burnt　an　open　fire；　throwing　a　red　twilight　over　the　quiet　huts

of　branches；　into　which　the　sounds　of　music　penetrated…　an　ear

tickling；　intoxicating　music；　that　sent　the　blood　coursing　through　the

veins。

　　　　Beautiful　girls　in　festive　attire；　with　pleasant　smiles　on　their

lips；　and　the　light　spirit　of　youth　in　their　hearts…　〃Marys；〃　with

roses　in　their　hair；　but　without　carriage　and　postilion…　flitted　to

and　fro　in　the　wild　dance。

　　　　Where　were　the　heads；　where　the　feet？　As　if　stung　by　tarantulas；

they　sprang；　laughed；　rejoiced；　as　if　in　their　ecstacies　they　were

going　to　embrace　all　the　world。

　　　　The　Dryad　felt　herself　torn　with　them　into　the　whirl　of　the　dance。

Round　her　delicate　foot　clung　the　silken　boot；　chestnut　brown　in

color；　like　the　ribbon　that　floated　from　her　hair　down　upon　her　bare

shoulders。　The　green　silk　dress　waved　in　large　folds；　but　did　not

entirely　hide　the　pretty　foot　and　ankle。

　　　　Had　she　come　to　the　enchanted　Garden　of　Armida？　What　was　the

name　of　the　place？

　　　　The　name　glittered　in　gas…jets　over　the　entrance。　It　was

〃Mabille。〃

　　　　The　soaring　upwards　of　rockets；　the　splashing　of　fountains；　and

the　popping　of　champagne　corks　accompanied　the　wild　bacchantic

dance。　Over　the　whole　glided　the　moon　through　the　air；　clear；　but　with

a　somewhat　crooked　face。

　　　　A　wild　joviality　seemed　to　rush　through　the　Dryad；　as　though　she

were　intoxicated　with　opium。　Her　eyes　spoke；　her　lips　spoke；　but　the

sound　of　violins　and　of　flutes　drowned　the　sound　of　her　voice。　Her

partner　whispered　words　to　her　which　she　did　not　understand；　nor　do　we

understand　them。　He　stretched　out　his　arms　to　draw　her　to　him；　but

he　embraced　only　the　empty　air。

　　　　The　Dryad　had　been　carried　away；　like　a　rose…leaf　on　the　wind。

Before　her　she　saw　a　flame　in　the　air；　a　flashing　light　high　up　on　a

tower。　The　beacon　light　shone　from　the　goal　of　her　longing；　shone　from

the　red　lighthouse　tower　of　the　Fata　Morgana　of　the　Champ　de　Mars。

Thither　she　was　carried　by　the　wind。　She　circled　round　the　tower；

the　workmen　thought　it　was　a　butterfly　that　had　come　too　early；　and

that　now　sank　down　dying。

　　　　The　moon　shone　bright；　gas…lamps　spread　light　around；　through

the　halls；　over　the　all…world's　buildings　scattered　about；　over　the

rose…hil